


Sit on Acid

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Everyone has their own unique way to unwind after a hard week of work. Riza chooses to indulge in a certain vice.





	Sit on Acid

_The man seemed familiar. Not because of his face or his clothes but because of his demeanor. The way he held himself when he approached her was languid yet each step he took purposeful, he reached her table quickly and discreetly. He sat in the seat opposite her, crossing his arms and balancing his forearms on the edge of the table. The only thing separating them was the brass candelabra; his eyes seemed to soak up the candlelight, turning them molten and golden._

_“Good evening, miss.”_

* * *

 

The lobby was spartan yet tasteful; the wall adjacent to the entrance was lined with waiting booths, each one with floor length curtains that could be drawn if a female patron desired anonymity. The room itself had cream walls with dark half wood paneling, complete with the few pieces of abstract paintings, potted plants, and the occasional mirror it looked no different from any other high class establishment. There was even a dimmed chandelier hanging above Riza’s head.

The receptionist noticed Riza approaching, careful to make eye contact with her to acknowledge her, and returned to business with a customer. She quickly led the woman to an elevator and rounded back behind the desk to give the customary greeting of, “Welcome to Almacenista. How may I assist you this evening?” Riza flashed her a small smile. This was her tenth time coming here but so far she had been treated no differently than she had during her first visit and she made the same order every time. Still, she gave a cursory glance at the board hanging in the rear of the desk alcove; among the many name placards there was one with “Crimson” written in cursive. The light bulb next to it was dark.

“I’d like a simple plan with Crimson tonight.”

“Would you prefer to be escorted to the upper level or to wait in your allotted booth?”

“I’d prefer to wait.”

“Okay. Would you like to order a drink?”

Riza shook her head, “No, no thank you." 

The receptionist gave her a cordial smile and a nod and picked up the telephone handset. Riza examined one of paintings, drowning out the receptionist’s mummering with her thoughts. One piece wasn’t there last week, it must have been bought recently. 

“Ma’am?”

Riza snapped out of her pondering and faced the other woman.

“Your order has been placed. The total comes out to five thousand cenz, how will you be paying?” 

Reaching into the front pocket of her purse, Riza pulled out a small plastic card, “I have a member’s card.” The card was passed between the women’s hands; Riza continued to hold it after the transaction. The receptionist waved a hand towards the elevators. 

“You will be served in booth number eleven. Please enjoy your time at Almacenista.”

There was a card reader beneath the call button; Riza pressed her card to it until the light turned green and pushed the ‘up’ button. The elevator to her left opened immediately and she entered.

 

* * *

  _She fumbled with her hotel key card. It was hard, concentrating, especially with a man slowly, steadily pulling down the zipper of her dress in the hallway. The metal on the door fogged where her sweaty hands touched it, white splotches smudged around her fingertips. Her luck turned and she managed to slot the card into the reader. He stopped pulling her zipper, slid his hand across her back, and cupped the curve of her rib, his thumb edging beneath the band of her bra. She freed herself from his grip and shouldered the door open. The man walked, no, waltzed past her and into her room. Riza bit back a snide remark and peeped into the hallway — still empty. She plucked her card out of the reader and slammed the door behind her._

* * *

 

The upper level of the club was dark, save for one long trail of dark red fluorescent light. It ran above the boothes like a sinuous railway circling the room. Speakers dotted the walls, booming bass laden music to drown out the groans and guttural screams from below. The room pulsed with the energy emitted from the electronics and bodies that filled it; Riza was wracked with a throbbing she felt to the roots of her teeth. She stepped down from the landing and found her booth. There was enough space for her to stretch out her legs and she relaxed into the leather sofa. Most of the booths she had passed had their curtains drawn but she could see one, two, three, even four pairs of legs peeking out when she glanced down. The booth across from her’s had left the curtain open in a show of exhibitionism.

A dark-haired woman was being fucked by a muscular skinhead. The woman balanced on one stocking-clad leg with the other tossed over the man’s arm, shoulders pressed against the wall, her dress was bunched around her waist. Riza could see her nipple piercings gleam in the rubescent light; the sparkle of a diamond on the woman’s left hand caught her eye. The skinhead craned his neck to nip at her collarbone, with his head out of the way Riza had a clear view of the woman’s face — it was the same one from the lobby. Briefly, their eyes met; the brunette’s were glazed but they sharpened upon seeing the blonde. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a puckish grin and she whispered into the skinhead’s ear before turning around and bent towards the wall. The man slid his cock into her, their hips angled so that Riza could see each inch gradually pushed in; when he was fully seated he snapped his hips forward once and settled into unhurried thrusts, grinding in with each undulation. The woman tossed her head back, looked Riza right in the eyes and let out a moan loud enough to be heard above the music, a diva mugging for the camera. The curtains of the surrounding booths parted as other women momentarily ogled the pair, then were shut as their occupants returned to her own activities.

Riza continued to watch.

She squeezed her thighs together and the resulting spike of pleasure sent a shiver up her spine; the warmth pooled in her stomach trickled down between her legs. She shifted in her seat, reclined on the arm of sofa with her chin resting in her hand as she enjoyed the show put on for her. The woman had begun to pant heavier and slouched onto the wall even more than before, only the skinhead’s hold on the woman was keeping her upright. From the way her eyes fluttered and her mouth slackened Riza could tell she wasn’t acting anymore. She opened the first few buttons of her blouse and peeled her shirt collar from her sweaty neck but heat still clung to her like a second skin. Before she could see the climax, her view was suddenly blocked by a clothed torso. Riza sat up to reprimand the interloper but her protests never came — it was Crimson.

“Enjoying yourself, madam?”

He leaned against the wall of her booth, all confident nonchalance, a mirthful smile upon his face as he looked down at her. He glanced back at the pair and asked, “Would you prefer to keep the curtain open?”

The woman had collapsed to the floor with the skinhead kneeling beside her. Riza had missed it. She straightened up and leant back into the sofa, mirroring the man’s composure. No need to get frustrated when her order had finally arrived.  “No, you may close it.”

The last Riza saw of the woman was a weak handwave and the curtain was tugged back with a sharp snap of the man’s wrist. He sank to one knee before her and she held out her hand; he took it and brought it to his face, not quite kissing it, but close enough that his breath brushed her knuckles. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but he embodied his title perfectly — his skin absorbed the blood red glare, giving a false flush to his face. Contrasting this, the ponytail curved around his shoulder barely gave off the same sanguine shine as his face, a stark rope of black against his shirt. If she were a superstitious woman, Riza would have said he looked demonic. The lurid etchings of an incubus given solid form.

 

* * *

  _There was a touch of sibilance in his voice, a saurian hiss, the sound fabric made against skin as it fell to the floor. It slithered down her ear and nestled in the coils of her brain. A slow constriction that would squeeze her until she became a boneless mess of wet limbs and endorphins._

* * *

 

The man rose from the floor and perched next to her on the sofa. He kept hold of her hand, his thumb gently stroking her fingers, and leaned close in as he spoke. “I am honored by your continued patronage, madam. Ten visits in half as many months, most couples would be envious of us.” When he brought her hand up again he pressed a kiss to it and finally released it from his grip. With a crooked finger, he brushed her bangs from her sweaty forehead and trailed it down the curve of her face. For one heartstopping moment, he moved in closer as if to kiss her but instead he slithered to the floor, hands roughly gripping her knees to support himself.

Crimson nuzzled his head into her lap. The collar of his dress shirt was pulled back, with how his neck was bent Riza could see various hickies peppered around it, almost like a collar. How many women before her had left her own mark on him? She could imagine it as a domino effect: the first woman noticing the pale length of his throat and sinking her teeth in to mar it, or perhaps it wasn't as deliberate and she just mindlessly bit him. Then the next woman would see the bite left by the previous; jealousy, admiration, lust, maybe a mix of all three would drive her to bruise his skin between her lips. Bite after bite threaded after the other till an exquisite collar twined about his neck. Riza traced a nail along his nape and gently dug it into one long string of hickies that curled down to the top of his back. He shivered beneath her palm and arched his neck into it, purring into her lap as he sought more of her touch and she scratched him again. He groaned into her skirt, pushed it up to her waist, and spread her legs to bury his face between them. 

Hot breath tickled her inner thighs and the tip of his nose pushed into her mons. He inhaled her scent deeply and her cunt was bathed in hot air from his resulting moan. He licked the crotch her panties and wet as she was his spit soaked her further, causing her to release a breathy moan of her own. The fabric blocked the full sensation but Riza could feel his tongue probing further as if it could pierce through to taste her fully. Underneath all the slick heat her clit throbbed. He playfully pulled her garter belt strap and let it snap back against her thigh, he then took the waistband of her underwear between his teeth and tugged it away from her skin, only to release it and watch it snap back again. Frustration broiled beneath her skin, usually his teasing amused her but her nerves were too frayed for it. She twirled a lock of hair around a finger and pulled, not enough to hurt but enough to inform him of her displeasure.

Crimson softly kissed her upper thigh, hooked his fingers into her panties, and slipped them off, she lifted her hips off the sofa to help. He tossed the soaked cotton onto the side table and spread her legs once more, less urgent than he had earlier. Riza smoothed a hand over the top of his head and let it rest there as he drew near, her heartbeat quickened in anticipation and her cunt squeezed out a drop of slick that trailed down to her ass. At the first slick press of his tongue she breathed out a long, relieved sigh. She unwound beneath his ministrations, the weeks’ stress sloughing off her as searing jolts of pleasure shot up her spine. She tried to reach around him to remove her pumps, to get more comfortable, but he moved away to assist her, taking away that wonderful mouth of his. He set her shoes behind him and Riza all but yanked his head back when he turned around. 

Her thighs twitched in his grip when his tongue circled and dipped into her entrance, he laved upwards and sharply pressed the tip into her urethra. Her stomach knotted and Riza arched off the sofa, her breath wheezing out her throat. Crimson gently ran his tongue over her to soothe the ache and suckled her inner labia between his lips. The speakers switched to a slow song, one with a strong, steady baseline that hammered along with her heart. Her insides shook as the music thrummed and when Crimson suddenly lavished her clit with quick kittenish licks wet pulses zinged through her as she edged towards orgasm, her hips jerking back and forth to grind on his face. 

And then he stopped.

He brushed his mouth along the inside of her thigh, feathery kisses meant to wind her down from the tizzy he worked her into. A hand stroked along her waist to her knee and grabbed it, pushing her leg towards her chest. Her other leg quickly followed and Riza felt herself sliding forward; she held onto the back of the sofa and Crimson grasped her thighs to keep her still. With her knees in the way, she couldn’t see him but when she felt his tongue slip into her again Riza closed her eyes and let her head roll back as he tonguefucked her.

He alternated his brusque tongueing with light flicks across her clit, the muscle skimming her but it was still enough to make her sink into the sofa. The leather rolled with the vibrations of the music and melted away beneath her, she was left with the gut wrenching feeling of teetering over nothing. The only her grip on Crimson’s neck and the song’s solid bass thing kept her from falling. Her vision flickered between red and black, black and red as her eyes roved beneath half shut lids. When Crimson wrapped his lips around her clit and gave her the sweet, constant suction she needed to finish she broke, and everything was swept away in one overwhelming wet rush.

 

* * *

  _Her eyes fluttered open and she shivered off the final dregs of orgasm, vaguely aware of a tongue lapping away the cum smeared on her thighs. There was nothing but darkness in front of her; she could barely make out the curve of the headboard. She lifted off the man to scrabble for the bedside lamp._

_Whose face was she sitting on anyway?_

_She hissed as her thumb jammed into the lamp switch before she managed to pinch the metal between her fingers and twisted it, the sudden burst of white light revealing her companion. A mischievous pair of dark eyes flashed back at her, recognition passed between them. The man licked his lips, slowly savoring the flavor that coated them, and the corner of his countlessly damned mouth curved before it opened._

_“I knew I tasted you from somewhere, madam.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The skinhead's name is Peaches.


End file.
